


Everything I Am, I Am Because You Made Me

by Bluebox_Parchment



Series: Everything We Are [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!verse, Angst, Endverse, M/M, Rimming, bottom!Dean, shameless porn, so of COURSE it's angst, then again this is endverse, try not to judge me too harshly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebox_Parchment/pseuds/Bluebox_Parchment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news had reached them half hour ago, when Chuck had fallen down the front steps of his cabin, clutching at his head like it was being cleaved apart. He was babbling incoherently in between swallowed screams, half sobbing that Sam was in Detroit and that Sam was saying Yes.</p><p>Of course, Dean had done what Dean does best when faced with situations that require dealing with emotions, and stalked off in search of the nearest stash of alcohol – alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Am, I Am Because You Made Me

The news had reached them half hour ago, when Chuck had fallen down the front steps of his cabin, clutching at his head like it was being cleaved apart. He was babbling incoherently in between swallowed screams, half sobbing that Sam was in Detroit – _it's ice cold, like Arctic wind. I feel like my bones are gonna shatter if I move. And he's falling apart. It looks like he's burning except he can't, it's too cold. So cold. He's just so cold_ – and that Sam was saying Yes.

Of course, Dean had done what Dean does best when faced with situations that require dealing with emotions, and stalked off in search of the nearest stash of alcohol – alone – cutting a path through the small gathering of campers. Except perhaps they were just giving him a wide berth, because they could see that tightly coiled fury bubbling just below the surface was well on its way to making an ugly appearance, and no, they did not much fancy having it aimed at them.

Cas had helped Chuck back to his cabin, got him laying down in the dark room, had handed him a bottle of Jack and clapped him on the shoulder. “My father is an asshole,” Cas said by way of apology and left the Prophet to rest.

He'd gone after Dean then, making his own path through the camp full of survivors that were wrestling everything inside cabins or else pulling large tarps over anything still outside. Storm was well on its way, if the long distant muttering of thunder and the rioting black clouds were any indication.

He thought perhaps giving him a few minutes of space would help. Except, the second he'd walked through the doorway of Dean's cabin, Dean had rounded on him, thrown a punch, thrown Cas to the wall, thrown a bitter, “This is all your fault,” at him and then kicked the bedpost.

The first whispers of rain started, the wind hissing angrily through the trees outside. And maybe Cas should've left it. No, Cas should've definitely left it. Instead he spat a mouthful of blood to the floor and replied indignantly, “ _My_ fault?”

“You broke him out of the panic room. You were being such a good little soldier you didn't even question starting the goddamned apocalypse.” The rain grew louder, the branches rattled against the roof of the cabin and somewhere in the distance was a low rumble of thunder. “So yeah, Cas, this is your fault.”

“ _My fault_?!” he repeated, letting out a bitter laugh. “You're the one that broke first.”

And he hated himself for saying it, wanted to take it back almost as soon as the words had passed his lips, but he couldn't. The colour drained from Dean's face and he looked like he was going to puke if he opened his mouth.

Except he didn't. He snatched up the nearest bottle of whiskey – a half drunk bottle that had been rest there since the night before – and downed a large mouthful. And then he started yelling. Yelling about Lucifer, and yelling about God, and yelling about Cas too, just for good measure.

There was once a time when Cas had threatened to throw Dean back into Hell if he hadn't been shown respect, and Dean had blanched at the mere suggestion. Back then Hell had been fresh and it had been easy to play on the memories. Cas would never had done it, would never have dared. Dean had been too important to the Plan, though he hadn't been informed as to why. And above all else, Dean had been too important to him.

But those days were long gone, brushed aside by Cas' own whispered confessions of fear and doubt, sitting on a park bench, watching humanity pass him by.

Cas snatched the bottle from Dean's hands and took a swig. It was warm and cheap, and it burnt a track down his throat as it went. And then he started shouting right back. His anger rising in him like poison and it felt good to extract it, to free himself of the irritation that usually itched below the skin, just out of scratching range.

He downed another large mouthful of whiskey as Dean retaliated, his voice growing louder over a particularly ominous rumble of thunder. The dim lights in the cabin flickered and dust fell from the rafters.

Dean strode forwards and snatched the bottle back from Cas' hands, hissing a bitter tirade of, _pathetic, useless, blind faith in a God that doesn't give a shit about any of us. You should hate him, not love him_.

“Maybe I should hate you,” Cas spat, pushing past Dean and heading towards the cupboards to rummage around for another bottle of hunter's helper rather than get any nearer Dean. And the yelling started up again, and grew louder as the storm outside grew closer. And they kept going, stepping back into one another's personal space 'til they were spitting venom in each other's faces.

The cabin was lit up by a crack of lightning, the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling swung uselessly and then flickered out throwing them into near total darkness.

Neither moved, even though there was little over an inch between them, both balling their hands into fists, both trembling with rage, both readying to smack the other.

And then Dean took a step backwards, ambled towards the discarded bottle of whiskey. Cas watched him go, a silhouette shifting through the shadows. Watched him as he downed the dregs of the whiskey and then stared at the bottle, clearly personally offended when he realised it was empty. Watched as Dean threw the bottle across the room, took out a rather ugly looking lamp in the process and then fell down into a slump on the edge of the bed.

Cas breathed heavily through his nose, his lungs aching for air.

“He's gone,” Dean whispered brokenly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Dean's outline was backlit by the black light of the storm and Cas could almost hear the sobs that wrought Dean's whole body. “Went to Hell for him. Did it so he wouldn't have to be dead. 'Cause I had to protect him.” He laughed bitterly and Cas knew, oh Cas knew. Still remembered the stench and the heat. Still remembered the limbs he broke and the injuries he endured to get to Dean. Still remembered the siblings that died right there in the Pit and the brilliance with which Dean's soul shone as he scrubbed it clean of the curls of black smoke.

“All for nothing,” Dean sniffed through his tears.

The wind was knocked from Cas' sails and his shoulders slumped. Because sure, he could hate Dean for turning into an ass, but he had every damn right to be one. And if Dean was an ass, then Cas was one too. He took a tentative step towards Dean, and then another, and another, and maybe it was because he had a stomach full of whiskey and resentment, or maybe it was just because Cas knew what it was like to lose your whole damn family to the same damn fight, but he reached out and ran his fingers through Dean's short hair.

Dean stilled beneath him, leaned in to Cas' touch, and all the air seemed stripped from the room. His hands fell into his lap, his eyes slipped closed and he tilted his head up, letting Cas see his tear soaked face.

Something broke inside Cas, and he surged forwards, bending down to press his lips to Dean's. He exhaled a sigh into Cas' mouth, ran broad hands up his thighs and drew Cas into him. There was no surprise in the way Dean kissed Cas back, no fear and no trepidation. Because of course they would wind up here, of course this was going to happen. It was always going to happen.

Lightning illuminated the room again for a second; the rain whistled down harder and the thunder rent the sky apart.

Cas tugged at Dean's hair and started licking his way into Dean's mouth greedily, drawing moan after moan past chapped lips. He straddled Dean's thighs as the hunter fisted at the thin cotton of Cas' tee, which wasn't really Cas' at all, more so just one of Dean's old ones that had a hole in the side seam which Dean's thumb caught, dragging across the small, exposed patch of Cas' skin and he shuddered.

And there were no words, none at all, just the heat of the one another's mouths; wet lips, and tongues curling behind teeth, heavy breath and heartbeats thrumming violent tattoos against rib cages.

Dean dragged the shirt up over Cas' head and ran his calloused hands down Cas' smooth spine. He stilled, his eyes – wide and shining, pupils blown, reflecting the occasional flash of lightning that filtered in through the grimy windows – trained some point over Cas' shoulder. And Cas knew. Knew he was imagining the wings that once unfurled from his shoulder blades. Knew because Cas could still feel the phantom weight of the bones and the feathers. Could always feel the ghostly wings dragging uselessly behind him as he navigated his own humanity.

But it hurt too much to think about, and it was often easier to numb the pain with whatever vice he could get his hands on than to actually deal with the complex _human_ emotions he'd never been equipped to live with. And with a squeeze of his thighs and a roll of his hips, he was distracting himself from his own thoughts again, hardening in his pants as Dean huffed hot breath against his cheek. He smirked and began trailing open-mouthed kisses down Dean's neck, sucking a gentle bruise into the pulse point that thrummed fast and desperate.

Blunt nails scratched down Cas' spine, caught against half-healed scrapes and grazes. Cas' eyes rolled back in his head a little at the sensation and he retaliated by dragging his teeth across exposed collarbone, earlobe, jaw... biting down onto Dean's bottom lip so hard that he could taste the iron tang of blood.

An animalistic growl escaped Dean. Then his hands were clutching at Cas' ass and he was lifting him up and flipping him down onto the bed, climbing on-top of the ex-angel to kiss him, deeply, sweetly, hands cradling Cas' face like he cherished him. Cas sighed happily and bucked his hips up against Dean.

And Cas wanted more, needed it but Dean was being slow and teasing, fingers delicately tracing patterns across Cas' skin 'til he squirmed. After several minutes filled with Cas' desperate seek of friction, Dean finally relented and ripped Cas' jeans down in a rough motion. The boxers went too, though they didn't make it down past his knees before Dean's mouth was on him, nuzzling and sucking at his hipbones like they were the most interesting and beautiful thing the hunter had ever seen.

Cas propped himself onto his elbows and watched, threading his fingers through Dean's hair. And then Dean paused, mouth hanging wet and open, hovering over Cas' cock. His eyes flickered up, met with Cas'. Dean's pupils were blown and he looked starving.

With a jolt, Cas knew. Knew because he always knew. Knew because he had rebuilt Dean from the atoms up. Knew because that soul had stitched itself to his and there was no part of it that he didn't understand completely. Knew that it had been a very long time since Dean Winchester had been on his knees and blown another man. Knew that there had been very few occasions where he'd even enjoyed it.

But then Dean was wrapping calloused fingers around Cas' length and lowering his mouth down, humming contentedly as he went and Cas' mind went blissfully blank. His eyes fell shut at the sensation, his elbows lost purchase in the mattress and he slumped back into the bed, his fingers fisting into the blankets.

Rain pelted against the windows as the storm grew a little louder, a little closer. The rumbles of thunder drowned out Cas' moans as Dean held him down, pinned him to the mattress with ease, and swirled his tongue over the head of Cas' cock. And when Cas bucked up into Dean's mouth he could feel the smirk ghosting along the hunter's lips.

Cas' fingers tunnelled through Dean's hair and for a half second they both stilled. Dean's shoulders set a little and Cas wondered if Dean thinks he's going to hold him there whilst he fucks into Dean's hot, welcoming mouth. Instead, Cas gently tugged Dean up his body, wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulders and slotted their mouths back together, kissing Dean deeply, messily, drinking him down like he's water.

He flipped Dean onto his back and stripped him of his clothes hastily, his nimble fingers making quick work of Dean's belt and buttons. And Dean laid there, head tipping back against the cold pillows as Cas worked has pants and his boxers down, tugged off his boots and deposited the lot on the floor unceremoniously at the end of the bed.

Cas' eyes caught the lightning and flashed like steal. He should've say something really, should've fought his voice against the thunder, should've told Dean that he loved him, or that he hated him. How Dean'd ruined everything that he once was and torched his life to the ground 'til he was little more than charcoal wing smudges on the tarmac.

He should've told him how none of that really matters because he would do it all again in a painfully human heartbeat. How he would go through losing his wings, and his Grace, and his life, for Dean. As many times as it was necessary to keep him safe, if not healthy and whole.

But of course he said nothing, because he couldn't, because neither of them could. Instead he reached out and started stroking Dean's length, dipped down between Dean's legs and sucked at the underside of his thigh, biting a bruise into the delicate skin. He let his fingers wander, gently palmed Dean's balls all while planting soft kisses on sweat slick skin that trailed closer to the hunter's groin.

Cas longed to return the favour. Longed to swallow Dean's thick cock down his throat. Instead he trailed his fingers teasingly over Dean's hole and Dean hissed, his hips bucking up, his chest heaving through his gasping breaths.

Usually Cas would've made a smart remark, would've let filth drip from his mouth because that's what his other bedfellows have gotten off on. Instead he licked his way into Dean, opening him up with calculating fingers and the blunt sweep of tongue, until Dean was moaning Cas' name so loudly he almost drowned out the thunder.

When he drew his fingers out, Dean whimpered in a way Cas knew he was going to deny ever happened after the fact. The sound shot straight to Cas' cock and he nipped at Dean's thigh. “Cas?” Dean asked, voice wrecked and broken.

Cas hushed him with a soft hand trailed up his side and a quick kiss planted into the hollow of Dean's exposed neck. He shuffled from the bed and rummaged through the nearest draw, fumbling through an odd mixture of bottle openers, pennies, and spare salt rounds, until he finally found the bottle of lube. He coated himself quickly before climbing back between Dean's open legs and lining himself up with Dean's entrance.

Dean muttered something incoherent about the lube being cold before he started fisting the rumpled blankets on the bed into his hands and tensing up. Cas lowered himself down on top of Dean, kissed him gently on the temple and finally found his voice. “It's okay, it's okay,” he whispered so quietly he could barely hear himself over the sound of the storm outside. He pushed his hips forwards ever so slightly, and Dean moaned, loud and low, like thunder, and he relaxed a fraction beneath Cas' body.

“It's okay,” Cas told him once more, rubbing circles into Dean's hips. Dean's body went slack. The hunter locked a leg around one of Cas' and Cas took that as invitation, took that as _yes_ , and just _took_.

He pushed slowly into Dean's heat. And he was tight and wet and Cas couldn't help but let his moans mingle with Dean's. He pulled back slightly and then rolled his hips in again, glancing down to watch his cock disappearing into Dean's ass. His stomach flipped at the sight, warmth tingling down his spine.

Dean panted, tossing his head to one side and biting at the delicate skin of Cas' wrist. It was animal and it was vicious and it hurt, and Cas surged down to kiss him, to breathe in Dean's whimpers and groans. Dean's cock leaked precome into his navel and Cas fought the urge to pull out of Dean and wrap his lips around the head of Dean's cock, suck him off until Dean was spilling down his throat. His hips juddered at thought, eyes rolling back in his head.

The lightning illuminated the room as Cas bit at Dean's bottom lip and buried himself to the hilt instead. Dean clenched around him, fisted his fingers into Cas' hair and moaned, “Cas,” into his mouth, breathed it like it was a prayer; reverent and expectant.

Cas let out a growl that was drowned out by the thunder, snapped his hips back and then slammed into Dean harder. Cas repeated the motion, his grip on Dean's hips painful, keeping him in place as he fucked into him, slowly and deeply.

Sweat slid down from Cas' hair line; the air in the room was thick and humid from the storm and stunk of sex. He mouthed desperately at Dean's neck, gasping at the sensation, his eyes rolling at the sound of Dean's voice, cracked and needy, and choking out a string of, _faster, harder, more more more please more_.

And, of course, Cas had never been able to deny Dean anything. It was exactly how they wound up in this situation in the first place: an apocalypse halfway to completion; the mother of all storms tearing through their tiny camp to welcome the devil to the earth in his perfect vessel; Cas with his wings torn away and burnt out, a heartbeat thrumming under his ribs, a buzz of whiskey and need flowing through his bloodstream as he slammed into Dean harder and faster.

Cas closed his eyes on the beautiful image of Dean splayed out beneath him, so that he could just _feel_. Feel Dean's hips rocking up to meet Cas' thrusts and his nails scraping violently down Cas' back; feel sweat slipping between his fingers as he knotted a hand into Dean's hair; feel the coiling flush of blood rushing through his body, down into his groin, his balls tightening, his hips losing their steady rhythm.

Teeth bit into his forearm and stifled Dean's guttural cry as he came untouched, covering their chests in come. And the sensation of Dean tightening around his cock was enough to shoot his rhythm to hell. His body tensed, his grip on Dean's hip and in his hair tightened, and he spilled inside Dean with a strangled cry.

He felt like collapsing forwards onto Dean. He was boneless and well fucked, and his legs shook with every tiny movement. Dean licked kisses against his own teeth marks on Cas' wrist and tangled his fingers into Cas' sweat drenched tresses. His eyes screwed up as Cas pulled out slowly and he whimpered when Cas ran a broad hand down Dean's side and chased it with soft kisses.

Knees shaking, body sticky with lube and come and sweat, Cas collapsed face down onto the mattress beside Dean, dirtying the already filthy sheets further. They didn't talk. Instead, Cas listened to the violent rhythm of Dean's heart, and the retreating rumbles of the storm outside.

A brilliant bolt of lightning illuminated the room and Dean shuffled in the bed. Cas turned to look at him, just in time to catch sight of Dean wincing as he tried to sit up.

So that meant Dean was going to do what he always did – had done only a few hours ago – and that was run off in search of more alcohol and pretend like it wasn't a big deal that he was leaving their tenuous friendship with a fatal bullet wound to the skull.

Cas' hand shot out and wrapped around Dean's wrist. And, dragging out the last dregs of his angelic strength, Cas anchored him there. Because no. Dean didn't get to run away this time because it would help absolutely no one.

He dragged Dean back down, pulled him into his arms and held onto him like Dean wasn't his one desperate lifeline. Dean didn't struggle, didn't try to claw away, just went limp against Cas' grip, curling his hands around Cas' forearms.

Another flicker of lightning that caught the shiny skin of the Cas' own hand print burnt into Dean's arm, and he mouthed a soft kiss against it, whispering, “It's okay, it's okay.”

He couldn't tell which of them he was saying it to, Dean or himself, but they both knew that it was a lie.


End file.
